Snow: Curse or Mercy?

I've heard several people say that snow is part of the curse, and at least infer that we should not take a great delight in it. Because winter is something that was not in God's perfectly created world before the curse of sin fell upon it, snow is descendant from the evil that has corrupted that perfection.

But I love snow. I love winter. I love the frost that coats every surface with a wild order and design. I love to catch the flakes as they fall and see their intricacies, and find the different types of snowflakes. The blinding glitter across unbroken fields, the trees waking and shaking off their downy blankets, the soft drifts that provide so much fun for families to enjoy together: how can you simply, and coldly, brush it off as a worthless burden that must be viewed as something to be merely endured until the world is burned and remade into lasting peace.

Perhaps the change of climate that brought us winter did stem from the fall of this world from its wondrous state of untarnished beauty. It probably never snowed in that perfect garden. And that was good. But how merciful of God to temper even the results of so dreadful a curse with such glory. The Father did not leave us and all creation to groan alone under the weight of destruction, but He lifted it, placed it on Himself, and left His fingerprints for us to find.

In the Court of Glory

The innocent cloak of gray was rent asunder, giving view to the fiery waters beneath. Inch by inch, flames reach to encircle the dome; beyond where they touch, the mantle is a pale, ethereal blue. Ribbons of fire ripple across the space where it was hottest; only there was no heat. As in relief I breathe the delicious air in long sighs, the aspect changes. It is no longer a river of threatening waters. In one place all the power seems to be collected; concentrated, but so strong that even the mountains are kissed with rose. I would call it Glory. The shimmering light seems to form a gateway; open, but my eyes have not the strength to see beyond. Through such intensity of beauty I almost expected to see "a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer." (Rev 6:2) It was, to my earthly mind, fit for such an entrance. But soon, this too faded and just before the sun rose, all was serene. Only a gentle blush remained, as though the Painter's hand had calmed the storm of color, and He had said, "Peace, be still".